


there is a way

by Imagineitdear



Series: where there is love, there is a way [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Awesome Peggy Carter, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Break Up, Childbirth, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Knight Steve, M/M, Magic, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Princess Peggy, Queen Peggy, Threesome - F/M/M, World War Threesome, homosexual bucky barnes, hopefully, king bucky, literally all your dreams come true, prince bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 18:52:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15612705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagineitdear/pseuds/Imagineitdear
Summary: “He didn’t look alright,” he tells Peggy the second her servants leave them be. She frowns but nods, sipping water from a goblet.“He used to look like that a lot,” she says, to Steve’s surprise. “I hoped I would never see it again.”“During the war, I saw it,” Steve says. “When did he . . .?”“You mean when have I seen it?” the queen asks with a sad smile. She puts the goblet down, tracing the edge with a finger. “Often, just before we married and for a while after. A war face. Well . . . that makes sense.”(AKA a prequel/sequel to "where there is love.")





	there is a way

**Author's Note:**

> *In Mushu's voice*: I LIIIIIIVE!!!!
> 
> I am emerging from the dust and come forth with more of the same: angsty fluffy medieval World War Threesome! 
> 
> So I have been working on and off for like FOREVER on a sequel to my first plug, "where there is love," and then in the middle of that, a prequel started leaking out...so I've lobbed them together? It might not make sense. It PROBABLY won't make sense if you don't read the first one. But yeah enjoy, and if this is too time-jumpy lemme know.
> 
> (Dubious Consent: Bucky/Peggy sex isn't completely consensual because of its arranged nature, plus the fact that Bucky has little to no desire sexually to do so. He still chooses to, but yeah, it kind of sucks for both of them. You've been warned.)

The stream was cloudy, yellow with some kind of mineral, not clear enough to drink.

 

Bucky crouched down and to his relief couldn’t see his reflection in it. He probably wouldn’t recognize himself anyway; not with the sweat and grime and stubble on his face.

 

Not with the blood, dried brown, on his hands.

 

But a stream, however murky, had it’s uses. Bucky bent and rubbed his submerged hands together, feeling the remaining flecks dry off. The water was freezing, and it felt good on his skin. Good enough Bucky ducked to splash it across his face, along the back of his neck. He shivered, sucking in a breath.

 

“That’s a lost cause, you know,” a familiar voice said. Too close. If Bucky hadn’t immediately recognized it he might have grabbed for his sword, swung out in surprise.

 

As it was he tensed, then huffed, not turning around as he answered, “Don’t I know it. Haven’t had a good bath in months.”

 

“Months? You poor thing.”

 

Steve came into his eyesight then, plopping down right next to Bucky with a sardonic smirk.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry, is that not long enough for you peasant folk?”

 

Steve knocked their shoulders together in retaliation, grinning when Bucky nearly fell over.

 

“Hey!” Bucky said, knocking him back harder with both hands, and Steve fell onto his back without retaliation, laughing. Bucky straddled him, pinning down the larger man’s wrists into the mossy ground, and glared at Steve’s impish look.

 

“I’m sorry, my prince. I’ll submit to whatever punishment you deem fit,” he quipped with an imperial tone, smile growing wider.

 

A sinking kind of dread, colder than any stream water could be, flooded into Bucky’s gut.

 

He quickly released Steve, scooting away and standing. Steve frowned up at him for a moment, looking like a kicked puppy. “What is it?”

 

“Are the men ready to keep moving?” Bucky asked, and the other man’s openness shut off, the mask of the captain taking its place.

 

“Yes, sir. I just came to tell you.” He stood, making to go back, but hesitated. “Is something wrong?” Steve asked after a moment, mask slipping so easily. Bucky always envied how quick he could turn it on and off.

 

“Nothing,” Bucky shook his head at the ground, not looking at the other man until he left. _Stupid_ , he realized, when Steve was out of sight. Stupid when he wouldn’t get much chance to look at Steve ever again. Not like he could out here. Amidst the blood, and the death, and the chaos, what was it to people that a man was looking at another man?

 

Their other comrades just teased and exchanged knowing looks. Their prince was an excellent swordsman, and the Howling Commandos did not care that he took one of them to his bed. It was wartime after all; all the better to not produce bastards, as the king’s advisors had told him when the war started.

 

But back home, back behind stone walls, things were never so simple.

 

Bucky looked down at the murky stream one last time. He still couldn’t see a reflection of himself, but perhaps that really was best. He wouldn’t want to see it anyway.

  
\---

 

Steve watches from his appointed position behind the princess, keeping an eye on the crowd near them. But the mourners don’t appear much of a threat; the women wear shrouds and the men have ash streaked across their cheeks. There are many genuine tears.

 

King George, first of his name, was beloved by his people.

 

He’s lain to rest in the mountains, in the tomb of kings, with Prince James leading the procession there. Steve stays behind the princess as they walk, remembering the king’s gruff kindness and regard for his son in the one short conversation Steve ever had with him. He can’t imagine how Bucky’s feeling, considering the only family member of his left was Princess Rebekah, married off the moment she turned sixteen.

 

Steve’s face must betray his thoughts, for as they wait for Bucky to leave the tomb he feels a small, gloved hand slip into his briefly, squeezing hard.

 

Peggy doesn’t smile at him when he looks up from the ground, but her eyes are bright as ever and full of feeling. He nods once, and she turns back to look ahead.

 

Horses have been brought for them to ride back; Steve helps Peggy up onto her saddle, sneaking overt glances at the prince as he swings onto his. But Bucky’s face betrays no apparent emotion. He rides all the way back to the city and into the castle courtyard without a single expression.

 

The princess’s servants immediately tend to her, leading her back to her chambers. And Steve, of course, has to follow.

 

“It’s the best way,” Peggy explained after their first heated night, the three of them tangled in a mass of naked limbs. “In case the servants start suspecting anything, with you in and out of my chambers so often.”

 

Steve nodded, chin against her head, and that was that. He’d been her personal guard ever since.

 

He usually can’t complain, but right now the prince’s stone face is worrying him; it reminds Steve too much of the war, of the way Bucky looked after he’d been rescued. Or when he made an especially brutal kill.

 

“He didn’t look alright,” he tells Peggy the second her servants leave them be. She frowns but nods, sipping water from a goblet.

 

“He used to look like that a lot,” she says, to Steve’s surprise. “I hoped I would never see it again.”

 

“During the war, I saw it,” Steve says. “When did he . . .?”

 

“You mean when have I seen it?” the queen asks with a sad smile. She puts the goblet down, tracing the edge with a finger. “Often, just before we married and for a while after. A war face. Well . . . that makes sense.”

 

“How horrible, for both of you,” Steve says, shaking his head. He can’t think of how hard it must be, forced to be with someone he’d never met. Attractions aside.

 

“Marriages are rarely ideal,” she sighs, leaning back. Then Peggy reaches out a hand, one that Steve grabs gently.

 

“What is it?” he asks, confused by the strange look she’s giving him. But Peggy tugs on his hand, signalling Steve to come closer, until he’s practically in her lap. Then the princess lifts his hand in her gloved one and kisses it, so lightly he can hardly feel it.

 

“I’m already much too fond of you,” she tells him, and places her other hand up against his heart. “You’re a good man. I knew the moment I saw you.”

 

Steve blushes, looking down at the ground. Peggy laughs in surprise at his embarrassment. “What is it, love? Too modest?”

 

“No, it’s just . . .” He sighs, glancing at her guiltily. “The first moment I saw you, I hated you.”

 

Peggy lets out a rich, delighted laugh, throwing her head back and exposing her smooth, pale throat. “Oh my!” she gasps in between laughs, and Steve can feel his face only grow redder. “Of course you would!” She quiets down, face still flushed with laughter. “Of course you would.”

 

“I don’t anymore, if that’s any consolation,” he says honestly.

 

Peggy looks up at him fondly. “It is.”

 

\---

 

The war was over. God, he should be happy. Bucky knew that. He knew it like he knew the weak points in Hydra armor, like he knew the names of every one of his men’s girls. Every one’s but Steve’s, who kept quiet on the matter.

 

Bucky had asked him, one night after he’d slipped into his tent, taken them both in hand and had to clamp his other hand over Steve’s mouth, the man was making so much noise. Admittedly, it’d been a while since they had the chance.

 

“Who’s your lady back home?” he murmured into Steve’s chest once they’d cleaned up, Steve’s breath deep and slow again.

 

“What’s it to you?” he huffed back.

 

“Curious, is all,” Bucky shrugged, and propped his chin up on Steve’s chest to look at him. “You never talk about one.”

 

“Neither do you,” Steve pointed out, and it was true enough. Mostly because Bucky had to bullshit his way through any questions anyone asked.

 

He opened his mouth to do just that, but then his eyes met Steve’s. Those eyes. They were looking at him with such trust, trust Bucky knew he hadn’t earned. He found he couldn’t lie. Maybe because, even if he tried to, Steve would see right through it with those eyes of his.

 

“I don’t have any damsel waiting for me,” he went with, and it was mostly true. Never mind the threat of his arranged marriage in the far-off distance.

 

“That so? Didn’t you say—”

 

“Forget what I said, then,” Bucky cut him off. “I’ve never . . .”

 

“What?” Steve asked when he didn’t continue, shaking his head. “Caught a lady’s fancy? I doubt that highly, your grace.”

 

“Don’t ‘your grace’ me, I’m telling the truth,” Bucky defended, a little affronted Steve wouldn’t believe him. “And anyway, even if some liked me I’ve never fancied one of them.”

 

“You keep to the serving wenches, then?”

 

“Steve, honestly!” Bucky groaned, smacking his forehead against Steve’s chest. “You’re willfully not understanding me. I’ve never fancied a damsel, _at all_.”

 

Silence.

 

Panic rushed into his gut all at once as Bucky realized what he’d just said. What he’d admitted to being. Obviously he wasn’t hiding it well; but Steve always allowed the occasional deviance outside of perfunctory fucking. The soft touches, the post-coital intimacy, the kissing. So Bucky indulged, and now he’d admitted one thing too many. Quickly he de-tangled from Steve’s side, twisting around with his back to the man. Bucky didn’t want to see the expression on his face.

 

“Never,” Steve repeated, sounding genuinely confused. “Not ever?”

 

Better than understanding and completely horrified, Bucky mused even as he sighed in frustration. But the man was giving him an out; he’d be a fool not to take it. “Not yet, at least,” Bucky amended as he pulled his breeches and socks back on. “I hadn’t the time to mess around, like you peasants.”

 

Steve huffed a hesitant laugh; Bucky could hear the shuffle of him sitting up before he felt warm lips pressing against his shoulder. “I’m glad you do now,” Steve murmured, and Bucky let himself sigh.

 

He couldn’t have much, true. But he could have this. He would have this.

 

That was months before Hydra’s army surrendered, retreated back to the unclaimed lands and left Gilboa and Gath in peace. Left the two countries, so recently allied, with a need for more blood to bind them. And Bucky felt righteous triumph, as King George called them home instead of pursuing after the enemy. “Let them lick their wounds and drown in their own blood,” was his words, according to the messenger.

 

He should be happy, so when the squadron rode in through the gates on their steeds, horns blaring and crowds shouting for “Prince James!” like a mantra, Bucky knew to smile. He only glanced at Steve a few times during the parade, just enough that he might be able to memorize the bright, enraptured look on the soldier’s face. Maybe even master it on his own.

 

\---

 

Peggy has a servant send for the soon-to-be-king to join her for dinner. “We’re having a private celebration,” Peggy says to Steve. Bucky replies in the affirmative, and Steve watches in confusion as the princess arranges for a feast of a supper.

 

“Will the prince even feel like eating after such a stressful day?” he murmurs to her while the servants bring out platter after platter, and she only replies with a dainty shrug.

 

When Bucky arrives looking blank but exhausted, Peggy shoos the remainder of her ladies out. The moment the three of them are alone she wraps her arms around her husband, guiding his head to rest against her shoulder.

 

“You did so well today, my love,” she tells him softly. “I am so proud of you.”

 

The soon-to-be-king’s tense shoulders all at once cave in, and he hugs her back tight.

 

When he pulls away the blank stare is gone, and Bucky smiles weakly at Steve over Peggy’s shoulder before admitting, “I’m starving.”

 

He looks even better with food in him, more color in his cheeks and light in his eyes. Peggy winks at Steve, as if to say _I told you so_ , and Steve vows to never doubt her again.

 

They eat their fill and all retire to Peggy’s enormous bed, Peggy ending up in the middle, cradling Bucky and Steve’s heads against her chest. Bucky joins hands with Steve across her stomach, and Steve can’t help the blissful sigh that escapes. He loves them. He loves them both, so much.

 

“It’s been wonderful, the three of us together,” Peggy says. Steve can hear her musical voice vibrating from her chest, and he feels like he’s floating. “It’s been perfect. I never thought about it coming to an end.”

 

And now, sinking.

 

“Peggy?” Bucky asks, lifting his head with a frown.

 

She rises slowly, giving them enough time to sit up. Steve has always admired that careful front curl, the one that gets into her eyes once she unpins her hair. His hand clenches in the bedding; he wants to move it out of the way right now.

 

“Yes, love. It can no longer be the three of us.”

 

In any scenario this was going to happen, eventually, he reminds himself. Inevitable.

 

“Okay,” Steve nods. “Okay.”

 

Bucky’s face shutters off. A war face, like Peggy said, and damn if that doesn’t break the remaining pieces of Steve’s heart. He should probably get up off their marriage bed. He’ll soon be asked to, anyway.

 

“There’s going to be four of us.”

 

Bucky chokes on air; Steve just stares at Peggy dumbly. Her amazing lips curl one muscle at a time, into something smug and devious.

 

His first thought is, maybe Peggy needs a woman? But then she cups a hand against the lower half of her belly just so, possessive and gentle-like, and a million lights flare up in Steve’s brain.

 

Oh. _Oh_.

 

“You did it!” he blurts, putting a hand over Peggy’s and beaming at them both. Peggy’s smile is as warm as a thousand suns.

 

Busy staring at Peggy’s stomach in disbelief, Bucky only glances at Steve, looking absolutely shaken. “You did it,” Steve says, firmly this time, giving Bucky as reassuring a look as he can manage. The shock seems to crack, and Bucky nods. There’s maybe even a hint of a smile.

 

Peggy cups her free hand against her husband’s cheek, then looks between the two men. “No, Steve. _We_ did it.”

 

\---

  
  
His father and sister were waiting on the steps of the castle courtyard, at the heart of the city. King George looked stern but approving. Rebecca bounced on her feet, bursting with excitement as Bucky swung off his horse. He first met his king with a bow.

 

Then King George lifted him back up by the shoulders and wrapped sturdy arms around his son. “This is a day I will never forget,” he said, pulling Bucky back at arm’s width and looking up and down him. “My son leaves for war, a boy, and returns home a man. You have earned your place as heir.”

 

He addressed the crowd. “My fellow friends, behold the glorious returned! Our men, our sons, in loyalty to this country aided Gilboa in the fight against Hydra, squashing their bloody rebellion. Glad tidings it is, to have them home. Let us remember their service, and the fallen for their sacrifice.”

 

The crowd roared, blasting his ears. Bucky’s smile came a bit easier, especially when the Howling Commandos were immediately invited to the celebratory banquet by his father. He couldn’t help but glance at Steve, who was talking animatedly with Morita as they led their horses into the courtyard.

 

“Is that the one?”

 

Bucky turned to see his sister, her blue eyes flickering between him and Steve with a knowing look. He shrugged, gave the reins of his horse over to a servant and said, “Is that the what?”

 

“You’ve seemed happier, since,” she continued.

 

He gave up his play of ignorance, sighing. “The war is done. I’ve made father proud. Of course I’m happy.”

 

She grabbed his forearm, stopping Bucky in the middle of the courtyard with a stern look. Even a head taller than her, Bucky still cowered under that look. “You know I hate lies, James,” she scolded, frowning at him.

 

He knew. Bucky nodded once, saying, "I'll tell you later." He didn't know then, how quickly she would be sent off to her own betrothed.

 

“Sire, I have two hours to get you from a vagabond into a prince,” his manservant interrupted, raising his eyebrows as he looked Bucky up and down. He let himself be towed away from his family without complaint, intent on thinking about nothing but bath salts and buttons for a while. He might even get to properly style his hair for the first time in years, if there's enough of it.

 

 

The banquet was long and dreary, but the dance afterwards allowed Bucky out of his seat, across the hall to his brothers-in-arms. They were all gloriously drunk.

 

“Prince JAMES!” Dugan shouted, jumping from his seat only to flail back, out of balance. Bucky helped him right himself, joining in as everyone laughed.

 

“Back with us common folk?” Morita asked, clapping him on the back. Falsworth looked about to pass out into his cup; Jones was singing a foreign drinking song with Dernier.

 

“Can’t stay away for long,” Steve said, smiling without inhibition as he came on Bucky’s other side. Bucky’s lungs tightened as the man drew close, thick arm over his shoulders, and whispered in his ear, “You look beautiful.”

 

Bucky swatted him away, trying unsuccessfully to laugh. “I’m no woman,” he argued, crossing his arms. Steve played with the shiny brass buttons on his clean uniform, then looked at Bucky from beneath his lashes.

 

 _They_ were beautiful. Too beautiful, not fair, not on a man.

 

“Neither am I,” Steve murmured, then backed up a little.

 

An hour later Steve had him slammed against the back of a closed door inside Bucky’s personal chambers. Bucky groaned, grappling the other man by the shoulders as Steve licked against his mouth, hot and beckoning. A siege, not an invasion.

 

Bucky surrendered.

 

They ended up on the bed at some point, clothes shed on the way, and Bucky grabbed for the oil he usually kept under his pillows. His manservant, bless him, had left it there, despite the months that had passed since Bucky’s last visit home.

 

Steve was content to rut against him, to kiss and touch until everything else melted away. But that wasn’t enough. Not now, not with the silk-roped noose hanging over Bucky’s head. His future was too close, with the war done. He couldn’t wait for something that would never happen again.

 

“Please, inside me,” he breathed, nudging the vial of oil into Steve’s hand.

 

Steve groaned at the request, fingers wrapping around it. But he continued kissing him, continued stroking their cocks together, and Bucky knew they wouldn’t last.

 

“Please, now Steve,” he said louder, breaking away from the man’s insistent mouth. Steve’s hand stopped its strokes. “I need this.”

 

Steve looked down at his face, searching for a moment. “Okay,” he said, rather simply, though there was something sad in the way he said it that Bucky just had to ignore. If he wanted this, he couldn’t focus on everything that came after.

 

Steve prepped him well, it’d been a while since they’d last had the chance, and Bucky groaned at the burning feeling of his comrade, his friend, his lover filling him up. He grabbed onto Steve’s back, dug his nails into the strong flesh, and met each of Steve’s careful thrusts.

 

“Please, not gentle, not tonight,” Bucky let slip out, and Steve paused in hesitation for a frightening moment before he began again, harder, faster. Bucky dug his heels into Steve’s thighs, urging him on, and letting out small “uh, uh, uhs” when his whole body rocked with the motion. The bed was creaking, Steve was licking at his neck, and Bucky couldn’t care who saw or heard.

 

He could have this. One more time, he would have this.

 

The rubbing against that small spot inside him grew more intense as Steve thrust faster, deeper, and Bucky stroked himself in time. When Steve started sucking hard, just behind Bucky’s ear, he moved his hand faster, faster until he spilled.

 

The clench of his orgasm around Steve had him crying out, thrusting erratically before burying inside Bucky with a final push. They both breathed harshly into the otherwise-quiet air, Steve still inside him, and Bucky blinked back the burning in his eyes. He wouldn’t be sad. Not about this.

 

Steve finally eased out, Bucky’s legs jerking a little at the sensation, and then the other man flopped his body to the side, still half-covering Bucky’s body. It was sticky, and sweaty, and achingly wonderful.

 

“That was a goodbye, wasn’t it?” Steve murmured against his skin, kissing the scars along Bucky’s left shoulder.

 

“Why would you say that?” Bucky deflected, running a hand through his blond hair.

 

Steve huffed. “I’m not that dull. You’ve been trying to do it ever since Hydra surrendered.”

 

Bucky didn’t answer, but the other man seemed content to wait, wiping the mess of cooling seed on his chest with the corner of a sheet. Finally he sighed, admitting, “I can’t have--any of this, I mean, forever. Not as crown prince.”

 

“Why not?” Steve asked, propping his head up on an elbow. His eyes were bright, and young, and so un-scarred by the war he fought in. Bucky doesn’t know how he escaped with such a beautiful soul still attached. “Why can’t you have this, back here? You have it right now.”

 

“Princess Margaret of Gilboa,” Bucky said.

 

“What?”

 

“Princess Margaret, she’s been betrothed to me since the war started. And she comes of age in two months,” Bucky sighed. “And I would, I would . . . still have this. But it’s not fair to her. It’s not fair to you, especially.”

 

Steve frowned, slightly taken aback. “But how will you bed her?”

 

Bucky can’t help it; his face goes scarlet. A well of regret bubbles up, remembering what he once admitted to Steve. What he told him in confidence. Hearing it thrown back up in his face, when he’s trying to gently end things between them, hurts worse than a stab wound.

 

Steve must have seen as much on Bucky’s face, for he immediately added, “Not that you won’t. Or. Not to imply . . .”

 

“Get out,” Bucky said, almost just to save him from having to finish that horrid apology. Steve’s face fell, a bit shocked, but still he immediately slid from the bed and backed away, hastily throwing on whatever pieces of clothing he could find.

 

Bucky watched, swallowing down the lump in his throat. It kept resurfacing, pressing especially hard at the sight of Steve, marginally dressed, staring at Bucky with such a lost expression. Like he didn’t know what to do without him.

 

Bucky didn’t know either.

 

“Go,” he said, even as his voice broke. Steve stared at him, down at his own mismatched apparel, and then the door.

 

When he quietly shut it behind him Bucky turned his face into one of his plush, goose-feather pillows and sobbed.

 

\---

 

The coronation is long, and frankly rather dull, but all worth it when at last Bucky turns to the ensemble, crowned and christened King James of Gath. “Long live the King!” thunders out in a mantra. Steve can’t hear his own shout in the chorus, though he strains his voice at some point as they repeat the words long after King James leads a procession out of the throne room.

 

The feast in his honor lasts into the night, and Steve asks Peggy twice if she’s ready to retire, first at the stroke of midnight and then some hours later.

 

“I’ll retire with the king,” she says the second time.

 

But every lord, lady, king and queen in attendance seek a chance to speak with the new king. Including the king of Gilboa, Peggy’s father. Then he approaches them at some point in the night, kissing his daughter’s hand with a, “My queen.”

 

“My king,” she responds with a dainty bow of the head. Her father smiles.

 

“How does Gath treat you, love?”

 

Peggy captures his hand as he releases hers, squeezing it fondly. “Too well, your highness.” They look at each other, something passing silently between them that makes King Harrison look pleased. It’s an intimate thing. Something Steve can remember happening between him and his mother--and a pang in his chest already stops him from that road of thought.

 

Steve takes a few steps back to give the two some privacy and runs straight into the royal mage.

 

“Pardon me!” Steve says, steadying the old man. He reaches down to retrieve the blue ceremonial hat he knocked off, dusting it before handing it back.

 

Erskine dips his head in thanks as he takes it, holding the hat as he slowly looks Steve up and down. He has to crane his neck to do so. The old mage is not naturally tall, though over the years has probably shrunk by the stoop in his back. He regards Steve, however, with kindness in his eyes.

 

“And how are you, Sir Steven?” he asks in a thick, familiar accent. King George had been considered a fool to make a Hydra refugee his mage; that is, until Erskine cured Princess Rebecca at birth when both she and the queen would have died. It grates a little at Steve’s nerves at first to hear it after years fighting those who spoke with it.

 

But he can still distinguish between friend and foe. “It is a day to be remembered, my lord,” Steve says with a smile. “I am happy for the kingdom.”

 

“It stands today because of men like you,” Erskine says, eyebrows raised.

 

“Because of men like King James,” Steve says.

 

“Ah, yes,” Erskine agrees, eyes twinkling. “But many forget it was you who crossed enemy lines to save our future king and his men. Those of us who knew him when he was yea tall,” he lowers a flat hand to his waist in show, “we do not forget so easily.”

 

Steve flushes. “It was my duty, my lord.”

 

“It was against your orders!” Erskine tuts. “ _But_ ,” he smiles, “I knew you would.”

 

“You...foresaw?” Steve asks, curious now.

 

Erskine’s smile widens. “In a manner of speaking.”

 

Steve frowns, glancing over at the new king. Bucky is speaking with Peggy and her father now. They’re laughing over something, and Steve has always loved how Bucky throws his head back, adam’s apple bobbing, exposing throat. How the sound wrenches out of him helplessly.

 

There was no choice, going to Azzano.

 

“There is a bond between you both, deeper than you know,” Erskine says, pulling Steve’s gaze back to him. His wrinkled face is more serious now. “You must be ever vigilant, now that he is king.”

 

Erskine makes to go, but Steve finds himself grabbing the old man’s flimsy forearm, his words hinting at something Steve knows himself but barely understands. “Please,” he starts, but nothing else comes out.

 

The old mage seems to know what he wants. He smiles sadly. “Your mother came to me, hopeless. You were dying in her arms. Nothing would save you, but I--I saw something in you. Something the fates might be willing to bargain with. So I did.” He pats the hand Steve has on him gently, consolingly. “They tied your life to James’s.”

 

Steve stares at him. “So the king and I--”

 

“I did not know what form that bond would take,” Erskine says, raising an eyebrow. “That was up to the both of you. I am certain, however, that the fate of the kingdom is better off with you by the king and queen’s side.”

 

He pats Steve’s hand one more time, steps away, and quietly pops out of existence.

 

\---

 

Princess Margaret was lovely. Princess Margaret was queenly. Princess Margaret was perfect.

 

Prince James was fucked.

 

After two months of half the Gilboan officials visiting the court, another three weeks of finalizing the alliance addendum for times of peace, and two months of travel between the two countries, Princess Margaret of Gilboa arrived at the Gathite court. The moment Bucky kissed her dainty, gloved hand he knew this wasn’t going to work.

 

When she looked up at him with kind brown eyes his stomach dropped all the way to his feet.

 

She knew more about politics than he did, Bucky learned as they attended a council together. She could ride her mare Angie faster than he could, he learned when he suggested they go on a ride. She had an amazing sense of humor, convincing him there was a deadly spider in his hair and making him sit still for two minutes while she pretended to whack at it. She only broke in laughter when he bemoaned having to wash the spider guts from his hair.

 

Two weeks before the wedding ceremony, she pulled him aside to take a stroll in the gardens.

 

“James,” she said, looking up at him carefully. He squeezed where their arms were linked in answer. “James, have you bed a woman before?”

 

“No,” Bucky said. Luckily that was what he was supposed to say, even if it wasn’t true.

 

“Both my brothers did before they were wed,” she offered, probably trying to encourage the truth out of him.

 

“They had more time than me, then.” He put on a smile that she hopefully didn’t see through.

 

Princess Margaret sighed, looking down. “Yes, I suppose there’s been a war on the past while.” She stopped them, turning and taking both of Bucky’s hands in her own. Bucky made himself look her in those big, sincere eyes. “I have bedded a man before, my prince. Not exactly the way we will, but. I wanted you to know.”

 

This. This is why this would never work. Because the princess was amazing, and honest and sincere, and Bucky could never reciprocate that honesty. Not unless he wanted to ruin possibly both of their lives.

 

“Perhaps you can take the lead then, Margaret,” he said with a smirk, though he meant it sincerely.

 

She laughed, rich and loud. “Gladly.” She winked, squeezing his hands in her own.

 

As they walked back she whispered, “And I’m called Peggy, by my good friends.”

 

Something crossed between happy and sad twisted his heart.

 

“Bucky.”

 

\---

 

Three months later, when Peggy is actually showing a little, it is announced to the court that the queen has conceived. Many suggest the king have Erskine divine the gender, but both adamantly refuse. It's a risky spell, and not worth it when Peggy and Bucky, and Steve for that matter, will be happy with either.

 

Steve and Peggy hardly see Bucky, with the added duties of kingship. “It won’t be so bad, by the year’s end,” Bucky promises one night, his head in his wife’s lap. “I need to assert my authority and legitimacy right now. Then, when my father’s advisors trust me, I can delegate, let them act more independently on my orders.”

 

“You must rest more often then, love,” Peggy chides. She runs a hand through his long, wavy hair. “I can see how it’s draining you. We need a healthy king.”

 

“But this is my only time to spend with you,” he pouts, looking at both her and Steve.

 

Steve sits at the end of the bed, putting down the book he was pretending to read. “Sleep now, and set aside a day to give all of yourself to us. You’re boring when you’re tired anyway,” he says, smirking at Bucky.

 

The king throws a pillow at him.

 

In the meantime Bucky still insists on sleeping in the queen’s chambers, even when all he can do is slump down into the covers and mutter a “G’night” to them. And to add to the inconvenience, Peggy covertly tries to initiate intimacy between them all more and more of late. It isn’t exactly unusual. She needed to be the one when it came to actual intercourse, considering neither Bucky nor Steve would ever pressure her into pregnancy.

 

But there is no need for that now, considering her current state. And the other diverting activities of the passions there seems to be no time for.

 

Still, the moment the three of them are on the bed each night Steve sees something hungry in her eyes. On occasion Bucky has the energy, and they all enjoy each other. Otherwise, Peggy kisses them both goodnight. Bucky is out soon after. But Steve can sometimes feel a gentle rock in the mattress, when the candles are blown out, and right as it stops a tiny sigh. His cock perks a little, but Steve somehow finds the self-mastery to adjust himself and think of something else. He can’t simply roll over and lay with Bucky’s wife, even with their current, wonderful agreement.

 

“Bucky, Steve,” Peggy speaks out finally, three months before Erskine says the child will come. Her belly is round, and protruding. Her face is rounding a little, and there is a glow to her skin. She has never been more beautiful.

 

“Darling,” Steve says, kissing her hand. Bucky is already fluffing up a pillow to sleep on, but he smiles tiredly at her.

 

“I have talked with my ladies, and a few nurses,” she starts. Bucky perks up a little, brows furrowing in worry. “Apparently, many changes take place during pregnancy, ones I was not aware of. For some time, I have been...oh dear,” she laughs. “It’s nothing bad. Do not look at me like that, either of you.”

 

“Whatever it is, we want to help,” Steve says, giving her an encouraging nod.

 

Peggy sighs at him. “We always do this together,” she says, gesturing between the three of them. Steve somehow knows exactly what she’s referring to. “To make it equal, I know. But I trust you both. And if you’d find it agreeable, I thought perhaps…” She blushes. Steve can’t remember ever seeing her this bashful.

 

“Of course, Peggy,” Bucky says, as if it shouldn’t need to be said. Steve, like usual, feels a bit left behind. “As long as Steve agrees.”

 

He cocks an eyebrow at them in confusion, and Bucky laughs. “She wants you all to herself, Stevie,” he explains with a tired smirk.

 

“And you two alone, whenever you’d like of course,” Peggy hurries in with. “Bucky _would_ be welcome to have me on his own, but.”

 

Bucky gives her a rueful smile, nodding.

 

Steve blanches.

 

“You are allowed to say no, Steven,” Peggy says after a bit of silence.

 

“No, it’s not that…” he stops, frustrated. “I just never thought. I didn’t…”

 

“You didn’t think _two_ people could love you,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. Steve opens and closes his mouth; fish out of water.

 

Peggy just shakes her head disapprovingly. “Oh, Steve. Come here.”

 

He goes.

 

\---

 

“Would you like to try again, tonight?” Peggy asked as they shared a private supper.

 

Bucky was halfway into swallowing his pork; his throat constricted, hard enough to be painful, but slowly it scraped down. “Yes, of course,” he nodded, looking down at his plate. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known. Whenever the princess invited him to join her for supper, it was a veiled invitation to her bed. Still, she always felt the need to outright ask. In some sense Bucky appreciated it. In another, he wished he didn’t have to lie twice.

 

He downed the rest of the wine in his goblet, and had it refilled.

 

The servants left only a few candles lit and gave them privacy. Peggy went to her vanity and pulled the pins in her hair. “You haven’t cut your hair,” she noted absently as she completed the rote task. “It’s growing a bit long.”

 

“I should have it cut,” Bucky agreed.

 

“Should?” she turned her head, cocking an eyebrow at him.

 

“I had it short for the war,” Bucky shrugged, shrugging awkwardly where he stood. He shifted his eyes away from hers.

 

She copied his shrug, turning back to pull out the last pins in her hair. It curled over her shoulders prettily. “I like it,” she said.

 

Peggy was just trying to hold a normal conversation with him; maybe it was another tactic she was trying. Bucky appreciated the thought. He appreciated all of the different ways she tried, somehow harder and smarter than he could. She seemed to give up on attempts at small talk for now, though. The princess stood and approached him, slowly, as if sensing how his muscles wanted to tense. Bucky luckily had enough wine in him to stay loose. He offered her a hazy smile that she didn’t return.

 

“Would you help me out of my dress,” she asked, gesturing to the ties on her back. He nodded. He took a little longer than it probably should; whether the blame was on the wine or his nerves, Bucky tried not to scrutinize.

 

But it came off, and then it was just Peggy in her shift. Such a thin material, exposing her shape too much. Bucky made quick work of pulling off his shirt, and she helped with his boots while he untied his belt. It was all done in silence. Bucky wanted to puke.

 

He was left in his loose drawers, and she took him by the hand to the bed.

 

They’d developed a system. Unspoken though it was, Bucky knew first to sit at the edge of the bed, keep his stance wide so she could kneel between his legs. He knew to grab a pillow to put on the ground so her knees didn’t bruise, like the first few times. And he knew to close his eyes.

 

Her dainty fingers were still so soft, so kind as she pulled out his cock and sought to tempt some interest. Bucky thought about nothing, or--when he was desperate enough--he let his mind flash to Steve, looking up at him through thick lashes, sharp jaw pulled wide around his cock. That image usually started something in him.

 

Tonight he let himself, because they couldn’t give up hope. He couldn’t ruin _everything_.

 

He imagined it was Steve who licked at the head, stroked at the base of his cock and squeezed his thigh. The hands were bigger, the mouth was more insistent, and there was a scratch of stubble. Bucky let himself get into the rhythm of it as Steve bobbed up and down shallowly around him, focused on the heat pooling in his belly and the tingling in his toes.

 

“Good job, love,” Peggy said as she pulled off, ripping Bucky from his fantasy. He gusted out a breath, nodding.

 

“You too,” he said. She smiled, and this was the part.

 

The part Bucky never made it past.

 

He shucked off his unders, and she pulled off the shift, revealing a very beautiful, womanly body.

 

Bucky quickly looked down. Peggy suggested at the beginning that he look, that that might help. She even had the kindness to try putting on a show for him. A show any other man would die for, in Bucky’s place.

 

Now she quickly got on the bed, and said, “Let’s try it like this.”

 

Bucky glanced back at her--and paralyzed.

 

She was on all fours.

 

“Peggy--”

 

“I want to give you an heir, love,” she said, tilting her head towards him. Her sad smile was partially hidden by dark curls. Bucky wanted a mountain to fall and bury him.

 

Because he was a sorry excuse of a man. Because sadly this gave him a little hope. Because he said, “Okay.”

 

They tried. And Bucky thought so hard about Steve he was going to start up dreams of the knight again, probably, but this had to _work_. Peggy deserved better; the kingdom deserved better. He managed a few thrusts, even, before his cock got too limp and it started hurting.

 

“P-Pegs,” he mumbled into her shoulder, and he felt her nod.

 

“Alright, love,” she said. “Alright.”

 

He pulled out, laid down next to her, and tried not to cry.

 

“That went well,” she whispered as she laid on her stomach.

 

Bucky huffed a sound, half-sob and half-laugh.

 

“ _Better_ ,” Peggy amended, and interlinked their hands. She kissed the back of Bucky’s hand, and he _didn’t deserve this_.

 

“You were amazing,” he told her, like he always told her. Because this wasn’t her fault. She smiled, though it was probably just to appease him.

 

They were quiet for a few minutes after, Bucky staring up at the canopy and Peggy fiddling with his hand. There was something in the air, though. Bucky knew she had something to say.

 

“Do you remember the first time--?” she asked. As if he could forget.

 

“I’m so sorry about that,” he said, because he could never apologize enough. Never make up for taking one good look about what was between her legs and, like a blithering idiot, gasping and escaping out of the room. Pathetic. _Weak_.

 

“I _know_ , love,” she rolled her eyes. “And I forgave you. But I told you afterwards, that it was probably just first time jitters.”

 

She had given him an out. She still was, now. “Yes, maybe there’s still--” Bucky agreed lamely.

 

“And then after a month I suggested we go to a doctor.”

 

Bucky frowned at her. “Do you think we should still--”

 

“And then, when your father got involved, he thought the Hydra had cursed you and sent you to Erskine.”

 

Peggy obviously had a point in all this, Bucky could tell. It was probably wise to let her get to it. The princess propped her head on an arm, scooting closer to him with a strange intensity in her eyes. “And you agreed with all of them. But you never presented an idea yourself.”

 

She wanted him to diagnose himself? She had no idea how easy that would be.

 

She stopped, waiting for something it seemed. “You’re right,” he shrugged. He averted his eyes, which landed on a breast hanging slightly to the right. Nipple perky and bright. He was ridiculous. He should want this. He _had_ this, right in front of him.

 

Peggy noticed his gaze, and pulled the hand in hers to cup the breast. She’d done that before, and Bucky honestly had no qualms handling the smooth fullness of it. It was nice. It just didn’t incite any kind of reaction inside of him.

 

“Your breath is steady, your pupils are regular, and your lovely cock down there is as limp as an under-cooked sausage,” Peggy announced with satisfaction, a smile growing on her face.

 

Bucky flushed and pulled his hand away in embarrassment. “I’m sorry Peggy, I don’t know…”

 

She shook her head, smiling. She stroked his cheek with a soft hand, whispering, “You can’t help it, love. I’m not diagnosing you again, but. There is something you might think about, about finding out within yourself.”

 

“Something--?”

 

“Have you ever shared a bed with a man before?”

 

He looked into her eyes and only found love.

 

He always knew this wouldn’t work.

 

“Yes.”

 

Everything about her softened; her eyes, her smile, her shoulders. Bucky felt tears spring into his eyes, and she quickly wiped them away as they fell. Bucky pulled her into his arms and she willingly let him cling to her. Two naked bodies, embracing in something so intimate and innocent.

 

“I love you,” she told him as he sobbed.

 

\---

 

One night when Steve finally tells Peggy and Bucky what he’s learned from Erskine, they have very similar reactions.

 

“No wonder nothing can separate you two,” Peggy smirks.

 

Bucky, tired as usual, simply kisses him.

 

“You’re not upset?” Steve asks them both, though he’s mostly looking at Peggy. She probably has the right to feel odd-woman-out even without this knowledge. Even though his feelings for her have quickly grown just as strong.

 

Then the thought arises: does _she_ know that?

 

“I’ve never known happiness like this, Steven,” Peggy says with shining eyes. “The fates were kind, when they tied your soul to his. It was the only way I could have you.”

 

The air is charged, and without thinking Steve leans forward and draws her into a kiss. Passionate, long, burning with feelings that flame across every inch of his skin. She’s leaning back, and Steve crowds over her, one hand threading into her hair and the other sliding down her body. Her back arches like a harp string being plucked. And what beautiful music, from her mouth as his presses searing kisses down the delicate tendons of her throat. It swells in crescendo as he moves lower toward her protruding belly, so he can--

 

Steve glances over at Bucky. The king is watching them with half-lidded eyes. “Don’t stop on my account,” he murmurs sleepily.

 

“You heard him. Please, Steve,” Peggy says, voice properly ragged. Steve smiles up at her then goes back to work.

 

The music plays on.

 

\---

 

Bucky thought the most humiliating thing he would ever do was admit to his wife that he could not bed her, because he was not a true man.

 

He was wrong.

 

The most humiliating thing was her loving him, not even despite it. Maybe partly _for_ it, if that in any realm was possible.

 

But there was no denying it. After the night Bucky admitted his perversion, her affection for him grew tenfold, and his for her in return. It seemed to bond them, the shared secret. She was the kindest, most understanding and loving person to grace the earth.

 

She didn’t stop inviting him to supper. She didn’t stop inviting him to her bed. But they simply laid there in their underclothes and held each other, and talked and laughed and fell asleep so peacefully. Occasionally, he would kiss her. She always smiled and kissed back.

 

“Erskine asked if I’d like to check on my womb,” she whispered into his ear one night, when their conversation had lulled into silence.

 

Bucky pinched her stomach playfully, but she only laughed and squirmed a little.

 

“Why is that?”

 

“He wants to help, in any way he can,” she said, and Bucky thought that’d be the end of it. But then Peggy added, “Perhaps we should let him.”

 

Bucky fought off the fears that quickly crowded in, trusting Peggy. She loved him. They were in this, together. And Erskine was a kind man, even if no one would likely be as accepting as Peggy. “I could ask him to put a spell on my mind,” Bucky offered, though it hurt to do so.

 

“No!” Peggy lifted her head up, glaring at him so hard he could feel it in the dark. “That is not an option, James.”

 

“Alright,” he conceded easily. “What’s your idea?”

 

“He could put a spell on me, temporarily change my appearance,” she said confidently.

 

Bucky huffed and said, “No.”

 

“And why not.”

 

“Not an option,” he shrugged, quoting her. Peggy was quiet for a moment, contemplating. Then she groaned into his shoulder in temporary defeat.

 

“There must be a way,” she said with finality, knocking her nose into his clavicle.

 

Bucky shook his head, used to the sadness that welled up in his heart every time they discussed this. “You cannot be a man, and I cannot be with a woman.”

 

Peggy was quiet, but it was not a dormant quiet. He could practically hear the wheels as they turned in her mind. “Bucky,” she said, and put one of his hands against her heart. She put one of hers over his. “Do you hear that?”

 

“Yes,” Bucky answered.

 

“It’s steady, and strong, and it beats for you. It beats for the child I will bear for you and for this kingdom,” Peggy said. God he loved her. “And yours is just as strong.”

 

“I love you,” he said. He hadn’t said it yet, but he hoped she already knew.

 

She let out a hitched breath, and declared, “Where there is love, Prince Barnes, there is a way.”

 

The next morning, with the help of Erskine, they find it.

 

\---

 

The day Prince George II is born into the world, the King, the Queen, and the Queen’s Guard never leave each other’s side.

 

Peggy yells a lot at first; a lot. She begs it to end. She cries, and at some points, she glares at both Bucky and Steve. “You will never touch me again,” she hisses at Bucky, and he laughs brokenly, letting her grind the bones in his hand.

 

Then she screams herself hoarse, and the baby still isn’t coming.

 

Around sunrise of the next day the nurses are glancing worriedly at each other. Peggy’s tried every position, but now she’s too tired for anything but her back. She pushes through one more round then quickly, gracefully slips out of consciousness.

 

Bucky screams for Erskine to be called for. Screams why they hadn’t sent for him long ago.

 

Steve keeps kissing her cold, clammy hand, over and over again as he murmurs, “Pegs, please, please, Pegs stay with us.” The nurses don’t blink at his behavior. He’d probably bite their heads off if they did. Nothing matters except that Peggy _has_ to live.

 

Erskine blips into existence only a few minutes later, but it feels like an hour. Bucky yells, throat hoarse, “Save her mage. God, _save her_!”

 

The old mage hobbles over faster than should be possible on his old legs, but it’s not fast enough for Steve. He shoos the nurses off, mutters a spell, and a pulsing blue sheet of light curls out over Peggy’s passed out body. Steve watches with hope as Erskine feels the air above it with his hands, brow furrowed in concentration.

 

“The baby is stuck,” he mutters, hands right over Peggy’s protruding stomach. They dip into the pulsing, blue energy and start shifting something. If Steve squints, it almost looks like the outline of a baby. Erskine’s wrinkled hands cradle the child as he moves it from it’s curled position. Steve realizes: the baby had been laying on it’s back. It couldn’t have gotten out like that.

 

His hands are just in the blue magic above Peggy, not her actual stomach, but Steve cries in relief when the blue outline Erskine is handling successfully re-positions, head down. Ready.

 

“Will it--will she--?”

 

“It should be easier now,” Erskine sighs, hands pulling back. The magic disappears. “Now, just a little added strength.” He puts a hand on Peggy’s forehead and whispers something that sounds like a prayer.

 

The moment he pulls away, her eyes flutter open.

 

Erskine nearly keels over, and a nurse helps him sit in the nearest chair as the labor continues. Peggy yells and cries more, and then the head is crowning.

 

“Just a little more, love,” Steve croons, wiping at her face. She goes back to a squatting position on her knees, two nurses assisting the baby and Steve and Bucky attempting at assisting Peggy. She’s done cursing. The queen seems to have energy for one thing only, and in her last push she nearly breaks Steve’s eardrums.

 

Then the baby’s head is out, and the nurses help the rest of the way. There’s the sweetest, most purest of little cries, and Bucky looks back and says, “It’s a boy.”

 

Peggy cries harder. She’s smiling.

 

When the little prince is cleaned, the cord is cut, the afterbirth is out, and Peggy is busy staring down at her son in wonder, Bucky nearly collapses into Steve’s arms.

 

“I thought we lost her,” he admits into Steve’s neck, shuddering. “I can’t lose her, Steve.”

 

“I can’t either,” Steve says, tightening arms around him. “We didn’t.”

 

“We almost did.”

 

They did. And Steve doesn’t want to face that ever again, but it’s not entirely all his or Bucky’s choice. Just looking at her over there, smiling so gently down at her child, Steve won’t be surprised if they do this all over again in time.

 

“He’s got your nose, love,” Peggy calls, and the two men go back to fawn with her over their child, made out of so much love.

 

\---

 

Peggy does conceive again. Twice. And when the last one, a girl, comes out with blond hair, some say an angel kissed her crown. Some say it must be in Queen Margaret’s Gilboan blood.

 

Bucky, Peggy and Steve know better.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's where I'd love your feedback. I could split it into two chapters...or add them as chapters to the original? Or do you like as is? ALSO NICE WORDS ALSO ARE WELCOME ALSO.
> 
> Thank you all *bows and peaces out*


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